First among the many
by EarthBorn93
Summary: There is a first time for everything, and for Qwerai Mahariel it is time for the first battle in her life. What revelations does such an experience hold? What shall she learn about the nature of war and herself?


**First among the many**

 **Edge of the Brecilian forest, 9:28 Dragon**

Qwerai was lying on her stomach behind a small crest at the edge of the forest overlooking a dirt road. It was summer, the world alive with all the tones of green, save for this Shemlen contraption cutting the landscape like some wound. The forest had recently been swept with rain, the sweet, musty scent drifting into her nostrils. She could feel the moisture of the forest floor slowly seeping through her shirt, something she tried to ignore, while the cloak she had draped over her to hide her from sight weighed heavily on her. Turning her head, she could just see the outlines of other similarly hidden figures near her stretching across the crest. She did her best to stay still, remembering how they had been told not to move, that stealth was paramount for the time being. She would not let herself be the one to screw this up, no matter how nervous she was feeling. She recalled the events that had brought her here:

A wandering band of local barbarians had been harassing one of the Dalish clans passing through the area. Her clan had agreed to join forces with the said clan, and together they had formed a raiding force to put an end to this menace once and for all. The keepers had also decided that this was an opportunity to give some of their younger hunters a taste of actual combat, so a number of them had been assigned to the raiding force under the command of older hunters in charge of the mission and their safety. This was also a momentous event for her personally, since this was to be the first battle she was going to take part in. To say she was nervous would have been a monumental understatement.

The leader of the raiding force was known as Zaravis, also known "Clip – Ear". His nickname stemmed from the fact that the top third of his right ear was missing and the area surrounding the ear was a mess of scar tissue, the result of being struck by a spiked human mace. He was a man who was known throughout several clans as an experienced warrior and leader, and a hero among the Dalish; having led raiding parties for more than eleven years. It was said that he never lost a mission he undertook. All the younger hunters were in awe of him, Qwerai included. The younger hunters had of course heard of his nickname, but none of them were presumptuous enough to use it. That, they believed, was the privilege of older hunters that knew Zaravis personally. In truth, however, Zaravis himself might not have minded. It was more about the younger hunters wishing to be respectful. Qwerai would come to learn that despite his grim visage, Zaravis was a stern but kind man that cared about the people he led. So long as you did your share of the work and followed orders, you were in his good books, and he treated you accordingly. His skills as a leader were also clear to see, he always seemed to know what to do in a given situation. He also had an uncanny ability to gauge people's abilities, to find their strengths and to place them to appropriate tasks based on those strengths.

The first days of the mission were spent travelling to the general area where the barbarian group had been encountered. Their group travelled through the forest in single file as the scouts ahead of their main force directed them to. Often the group had to take detours to avoid dangerous areas of the forest: Places where the veil was thin, where the spirits roamed freely and sylvans stood in waiting to ambush careless travelers. The travelling was uneventful save for a single event. They had been travelling through an area of dense trees as usual, and she had swatted aside an annoying branch, only then to have the tree hit her back! And it was not just the branch swinging back and smacking her in the face either. Instead a large branch behind her turned and smashed her on the back of the head, sending her flying, shouting in alarmed surprise as she went. Curiously the branch had even looked distantly like a person's arm with a balled fist on the end. When she came to the "tree" had been destroyed, burned by fire and hacked apart by axes. A lone sylvan that the scouts had missed, they told her afterwards. While the whole thing was obviously not her fault, she was still a little embarrassed of what had apparently been a rather comical attempt at flight. Fortunately, nothing but her pride had been harmed by the episode. Everyone was relieved that a scare was all they got.

That evening, as they were setting up the camp for the evening, the scouts returned. Qwerai overheard them inform Zaravis that they had found their target perhaps half a day away, travelling slowly towards them and that they had spotted a perfect ambush site not too far away from the current position of their raiding party. Zaravis immediately followed the scouts out to check out the ambush site for himself. Upon his return he conferred with the other hunters, then called all of them together and outlined his strategy. Most of them, himself included, would take ambush position at the site the scouts had located. A smaller force of older hunters would be sent out to silence enemy scouts and to alert their main force if the barbarian warband changed direction or detected their presence. The younger hunters were to be split into squads, five in each squad, and each squad would be led by an older hunter. A hunter named Aleth was the one leading the squad Qwerai was assigned to. Before sun went down that evening Zaravis called the younger hunters together again and brought them to the ambush site.

"All right" he spoke to them "I called you here to explain the plan to you in more here is how thing will go down: We will be on this ridge here," he pointed out the length of the ridge as he spoke. "the enemy will be coming along the road from that direction" he said, pointing to his left. "When the enemy arrives, do **not** move until your squad leader moves. They will be watching out for me to spring the ambush, and I want you watching them for the same. I say again, wait for us to move before you do, this is critical. If we move too soon, we might lose the element of surprise. If that happens we might lose control of the situation. If despite everything something does go wrong, follow your squad leader, they will know what to do. We will begin by firing a volley into them together, and then the older hunters will charge into close combat to keep the enemy off balance. You are to remain on the ridge and support us with arrows. Target shem archers and other ranged fighters first, then the rest. If you spot something that looks like a mage, take them out before anyone else. And watch what you shoot at. I for one am not fond of being feathered with arrows."

His joke earned a few chuckles from the rest of them.

"My advice: big and furry, shem, shoot; small and not furry, elf, no shoot."

Again a few chuckles.

In a more serious tone he continued: "You will be on your own for this part of the battle, so let me be very clear: I want no heroics from you. Stay on the ridge, do your part, and come out alive Do not get into close combat with the shems unless they leave you no choice. If you have to, just fall back, there's no shame in doing that. I want you to remember this: the measure of a true warrior is not in their skill or the stunts they pull on the battlefield. It is in that warrior's ability to do what is expected of them, always, to get the job done and to keep themselves and their friends alive. **That** is the mark of a true warrior, and **that** is true courage. Now, I realize that your job might not seem that glamorous, but it is important, very much so in fact. I'm going to need you on that ridge. We will all need you there. So, do you think you can do this for me?" Nods and sounds of affirmation followed. Zaravis smiled: "Then I guess we're going to kick some serious shem ass!"

Quiet but exited cheers erupted from their ranks in response. Qwerai grinned and cheered with all of them.

The rest of the evening was spent in making preparations. From amongst their clothes they selected clothes of dark green and brown, the colors that would best hide them in the woodlands. They weaved plants and small sticks into their cloaks, so when they draped them over themselves they would effectively hide them from sight. With the same goal, they rubbed coal and ash to their faces and any exposed sections of skin. They did the same to any piece of metal they carried with them so that light would not reflect off them. In addition to this, weapons were sharpened, arrows straightened, their feathers also cut straight, bows checked and leather armor treated. When they were done, Zaravis personally inspected the kit of each of them, before having one of the older hunter check his gear as well. After that watches for the night were divided amongst the members of the raiding group and they were finally allowed to go to sleep. The knowledge that her firs battle was only hours away kept her awake for much of the night. She slept poorly and only for a few hours. From the restless movement she could hear from the others in her tent as well as similar sounds from other tents she could hear during her watch told her that she was not alone in her anxiety.

The next morning, they got up before dawn. They checked their equipment one last time, and reapplied the ash layer on their skin where and when necessary. Then they headed for their ambush site. So there she was hiding behind the lip of a crest, waiting for the inevitable to happen. That wait turned out to be hours long, which did her nervousness no good. Time and time again she noticed her fingers tapping the wood of her bow or that she was humming a quiet tune under her breath. She stopped herself each time. Now was not a good time to make a noise, not even the quiet kind, not when they were waiting in ambush and particularly because she was nervous enough as it was without a part of her reminding herself of the fact. Still, she could not entirely stop herself from babbling in the confines of her mind, her lips moving voicelessly: "its fine, its fine, you're fine, everything will go well and you'll be great. You will see. No need to be worried, none. None. At. All." Did she believe herself? She was uncertain.

It was almost midday before anything happened, all of them tired and bored of the long time of waiting. Then suddenly sounds could be heard coming from the direction of the road: Animals and people walking, carts being pulled, people laughing, talking. She could see Aleth peer from under his cloak with a stern, concentrating look, and wave a few quick hand signals to the rest of them. First a quick, sharp wave from left to right, then a slower move from up to down: go quiet and get down. They understood, and they obeyed. If they were not quiet before, they certainly were now. Qwerai cautiously peered over the lip of the ridge to get a look at their enemy. There were many of them, more than there were elves on the ridge. There were men and women both, of various ages but all of them clearly adults, all of them dressed in mismatched sets of fur and leather and armed with an assortment of different weapons. The humans had with them two carts loaded with various goods, most prominently heavy casks of some kind, and pulled by horses. From the fact that all members of the group were adults and all of them were armed, it seemed that this was a warband just as they were led to believe. That was a relief. Humans or no, slaughtering a group of families would have been a grim thing to do. These were definitely warriors. Careless warriors at that it seemed. There had been no scouts, no sentries, just this oblivious blob of people. Either these people were idiots, or the group that had been sent ahead was doing a sterling job in poking out the eyes of the enemy force. Since the barbarians did not seem to be alarmed like one would expect when scouts were unexpectedly missing, she suspected the former. They even had the courtesy of stopping right in front of their ambush to take a break, starting to take things out of their carts. This was the first time she had seen shemlen; she was quick to note how even the slimmest among them seemed large and burly compared to elves and how many of the males sported thick beards, something else she had never seen.

Her thoughts were interrupted when she saw Aleth stand up and draw his bow. Now was the time to act: they all stood up and the air was filled with the creaking sound of close to fifty bows being drawn at once. She selected as her target a young man that had been until a moment ago trying to adjust the wheel of one of the wagons. Now he was turning to face the attacking elves with startled eyes. Then they fired and the air was filled with flying arrows, killing many humans as they scrambled to respond to their attack. She saw a thin red line appear on the cheek of her target as her arrow imbedded itself on the wagon he was standing in front of. He raised a hand to his fresh wound and turned to look straight at her. As a long, mournful note of a dalish horn sounded and the older hunters charged to close combat, she realized that she had missed. "Shit!" she cursed loudly and made to fire again. Before her bow was fully drawn she was startled by a loud bellow coming from her right. Turning, she saw another human charging towards her. She fired quickly, hitting the man in his stomach, and he stumbled. Instead of stopping however, he soon resumed his attack, and Qwerai had to take several hasty steps backwards to stay out of reach of his weapon.

Her opponent was a huge brute of a man, made to look even larger by the wolf fur coat draped over his shoulders. His arms were wide as small trees with slabs of thick muscle, but he also had a huge keg of a belly, a feature that might have seemed contradictory to her had she had the time to think about it. His face was dirty, his slightly graying dirt – brown hair was an unwashed mess of dirty clumps and he had an equally messy and shaggy beard on his face. His grey eyes were crazed and his mouth was wide open as he yelled incoherently at her in his strange language, showing a mouthful of twisted brown teeth. The scent of alcohol and rotting teeth could be smelled even from this distance. The weapon he wielded was an unusual one: the blade was triangular in shape, perhaps a meter long and about the width of an open palm at its widest point, attached to a handle of about the same length as the blade. It was as the maker of this weapon could not decide between making a sword or a spear. A quick glance around her told Qwerai that the others had not noticed her predicament, being too busy in their own battle. She might have tried to call for help, but even if she was heard over the din of battle her enemy was so close that the attempt might see her head swept off her shoulders. She might have been able to outpace the man, but if she turned to run, he might catch her in the instant of turning and cut her to ribbons.

She kept moving backwards, just out of reach of her enemy, shooting at him repeatedly: Arm, chest, stomach again. She did not have time to fully draw her bow, but even so her arrows could do terrible damage, and at point blank range she could hardly miss either. Amazingly he kept advancing after each shot. With each shot her disbelief at the man's continued survival grew, as did the sense of panic in the back of her mind. Se loosed another arrow hitting the man in the leg, halfway between his knee and ankle. That slowed him down a little, his left leg dragging because of the damage she had done. She took the opportunity to sprint a short distance away and prepared another arrow, this time with a fully drawn bow. The arrow struck him in the mouth, knocking off several of his teeth in the process. For a moment she thought that finally got him, only for him to savagely tear the arrow off, spitting teeth and blood to the ground, the insides of his mouth showing through the terrible rent in his face. Her thoughts raced as she backed away, now genuinely terrified: What!? How could he….that was impossible! Not fair! He should be dead! What IS this thing!? How was he able to….? She began to shout at the man: "Stop moving damn you! Stop! Stop it! What does it take to kill you!? FUCK YOU! FUCK OFF! JUST…."

Shouting profanities as she was, she did not notice the tree root before she tripped. With an alarmed gasp she fell on her back. Her enemy approached as quickly as his limping leg allowed. He raised his weapon to impale Qwerai to the ground. Then he suddenly halted; a look of surprise on his ruined face. As she had fallen her reflexes had kicked in. Now lying on her back her bow was once again fully drawn, an arrow squarely pointed at her enemy's head. The barbarian man was still several steps away; he would never make it in time to stop her. She had him. They both knew it. She was scared to the bone, her expression caught somewhere between frightened, desperate and determined, fighting to keep her breath steady, her arms trembling slightly, but she had him. By the gods, she had him!

For a moment that seemed like a small eternity neither of them moved, as if they were frozen in this time and place. Then she fired, the arrow driving its way through his nose and into his brain. His eyes rolled over in his head, and shaking madly and gurgling he stumbled a few steps backwards and fell into a sitting position against a tree. Then his head slumped and he was finally still. Qwerai got up slowly, as if dreamwalking, unsure what to feel. For a time she simply stood there, staring at the man she had killed, oblivious to the events unfolding around her. Remembering the ongoing battle she turned her head to look, but she looked on passively as an outside observer might, her thoughts somewhere else. Clearly the elves were getting the upper hand in this battle. The older hunters were still outnumbered of course, but each of them was the equal of three of their foes. They were holding their own. Meanwhile the murderously accurate arrows of the archers on the ridge were causing the humans some serious casualties, keeping them from massing the numbers necessary to overwhelm the older hunters. She could see Zaravis fighting a human warrior dressed in slightly better quality clothing than his fellows, likely a leader of some kind. Zaravis was wielding a long, curved elven blade in one hand, and an axe in the other. The human was wielding a short hacking word and a small shield made of wood and leather. Three chops and a twisting motion of Zaravisi's axe, and then the shem's shield fell off in splinters. Zaravis blocked a sword blow with his own blade, and his axe went through the side of his opponents head. The human leader fell, and his death finally broke the will of their enemy to fight; they turned to flee. Those that were not run down by the older hunters were slain by arrows. In the end, none of the humans survived. A loud cheer arose from the ranks of the elves as weapons and fists were raised to the air, the dalish war horn sounding off again. Qwerai wanted to cheer with the rest of them and celebrate a victory well earned, but found herself curiously unable to do so. She was feeling very strange, somehow hollow. Instead of cheering she found her eyes irresistibly drawn back to the man she had killed. She sat down opposite to the man, leaning against a tree, knees on her chin, and stared at him, her expression vacant, as the rational part of her was trying to understand what she was feeling.

She was still sitting there when she heard a voice call out to her: "You all right kid?" She turned her head and saw Zaravis standing a few meters away, a look of concern on his face.

"Yeah…yes, I'm fine." she replied, tiredness in her voice.

Apparently unconvinced, Zaravis walked to her and offered her a waterskin: "Here. Drink."

She took the waterskin and lifted it to her lips to drink, then started and coughed at the sudden taste of wine on her tongue. She had been expecting water. She considered briefly, and then eagerly drank several gulps. Right now she was feeling like she wanted to be just a little bit drunk. Not too much, though. As she drank, Zaravis knelt next to her, eyeing the dead man opposite to them: - Say, that's quite a nasty looking brute you have there.

Swallowing the last of the wine in her mouth she replied: - He just kept coming. I shot him over and over and he didn't stop. How's that possible? How did he do that?

"Could have been a berserker." he said, thinking. "They use alcohol, drugs, chanting and other stuff to work themselves to a rage. They don't feel pain then, and they're almost impossible to kill while the rage is on. If that's the case, then I must say you did quite well. Not sure if I could have done the same at your age."

"Sure you could." Qwerai scoffed dismissively, not turning her face from the dead man. "You're Zaravis, the hero."

Zaravis chuckled at that: "I'll have you know I was not always as good a fighter as I am now, or as good at leading people. I grew into it, just as you will."

"How do you know?"

For a moment Zaravis paused. – I don't, really. It's just a gut feeling based on what I **can** see. You have a lot of potential, kid. If you want it, then with a little bit of experience, a little bit of more training here and there, and you could do great. And that – he pointed at the dead man – could be just the first among the many. Just don't let the fact that I said that go to your head. No point in giving anyone a bigger target.

His last comments earned from her a faint smile and a dry laugh from her. Then her absent expression returned. When she didn't reply, he continued: - You know, I was a little like that when I made my first kill.

"What, really?" Qwerai asked, raising an eyebrow at him, now genuinely surprised.

"Sure, couldn't get three words out of me for days. Nothing to say I guess."

"Does…does doing this get any easier?" she asked after a pause. At her question she saw Zaravis suddenly turn sad, like her question had awakened unpleasant memories: - You know, I kind of wish that I could say that it didn't, but it does.

She stared at him, confused: "You wish that it didn't? Why do you say that?"

"Because you don't want it to get too easy. You want it to feel somewhere, at least a little. I have had friends who got too comfortable in fighting, in killing. Eventually they stopped caring what they were killing, or why. From being indifferent about killing it's not a long step to craving it, and that is a very dark path to travel kid. So you will want to watch just how easy doing things like this is for you."

"I'll try to remember that." Qwerai said. Zaravis did not reply, simply stared somewhere far away, remembering something. Then he shook it off: "Anyway, there was something else I came to say to you. When you're feeling up to it, we could use your help in looking for wounded, cleaning up the place, that sort of thing."

"I'll be there." She promised. Zaravis nodded, then shook her shoulder reassuringly: -Hang in there kid. Then he stood up and walked away.

Eventually she got up and joined the others, helping the wounded as she was able. Fortunately there were not all that many injured. Only one of their number had been killed in the battle, one of the older hunters, killed with a spear driven through his stomach during the charge. While the loss of course could not be ignored, considering that in return the entire warband of shems was destroyed, it had to be conceded that they had done well. Of the horses that had been pulling the human carts, one was dead, slain by stray arrows, the other was still alive, neighing in fear and trying to pull itself free from the cart it was attached to. The dead horse would be a good source of food for the feast they were planning to have this evening. The live one they didn't need for anything, so they set it loose, free to meet its fate wherever that might be. In addition of seeking their own wounded they were searching the enemy dead for anything worth taking. Most of the barbarian equipment was garbage, not worth the trouble of taking it. Even so any piece of metal was collected and stored to be brought back to their respective clans. Metal was a rare raw material for the dalish, and he crafters of their clans could make good use of it. Unfired arrows of the enemy and those arrows that could be recovered intact were taken, used to refill diminished quivers. Sounds of delighted cheers and laughter could be heard coming from the top of one of the carts, where hunters had broken open one of the casks to find strong mead within, one more thing to enjoy during the feast to come.

As she was searching among the dead, Qwerai spotted the young man that she had tried to shoot during the opening moments of the battle. He was now lying on his back, a red gash across his throat, staring into the clear sky with eyes that did not see. She noted that he had grey eyes like the man she had killed today. A son perhaps? Now that she was looking, she could see enough resemblance between the two to make that a distinct possibility. With that realization she closed her eyes and spoke quietly: "Be merciful, good dead. Do not tell me your tales. Do not torment me with knowledge and regret." A strange impulse came over her and she knelt beside him, closing his eyelids with her fingers and resting her hand over his eyes for a moment, bowing her head in respect. It was likely the only moment of dignity he would be afforded. The dalish had neither the time nor the interest to bury all of these dead humans. A pyre to burn them on the other hand would generate a great deal of smoke which in turn might attract unwanted attention. Such a large pyre could also easily break free of their control and set an entire section of forest on fire despite the fact it had rained recently. In the years to come, she could never explain why she had acted as she did. There had been many more dead humans around after all, and this one was not even the one she had slain. Why was this one so important? Yet she also knew that some deeds needed no explanation. Some things you simply did because your heart told you to and you did not ask questions as to why you did it.

After a minute or so she stood back up and returned to her tasks. "Well, so much for my first battle", she thought as she walked away.


End file.
